7 Kisses
by redcandle
Summary: Seven kisses given and received by Catelyn Tully in her youth.


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"Come see your brother, Cat," her mother said. Lady Minisa looked tired, but she was smiling.

Cat dutifully inspected the babe. She thought of the last babe Mother birthed and how they buried him before the moon turned. She wondered how long this one would live.

"His name is Edmure," Mother said.

She didn't remember what her last brother had been named. She supposed she'd soon forget what this one was called, too. But she kissed his tiny cheek and promised to be a good big sister because she was a good girl and that was what she was supposed to do.

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Lysa cried and cried, and she was still crying when they rode out of sight. Cat felt sorry for her, but she was also annoyed. She was two whole years older than Lysa and that meant she could do things Lysa couldn't.

Besides, Lysa was too young for a horse and her pony would slow the journey. But she would hate being left home if it were her. "Maybe Lysa could ride double with me," she suggested.

Her father only chuckled and proclaimed her, "My sweet Cat."

She was happy to have Lord Hoster all to herself, and she confessed it to him while they crossed the old wooden bridge at Fairmarket.

He pulled her close, and kissed her forehead, and said that he was happy to have her all to himself too. She didn't let Lysa make her sad after that.

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Mother looked peaceful and very pretty, but her skin was cold as ice when Catelyn kissed her one last time.

She watched as the men pushed the funeral pyre into the river, watched as the river bore her mother away. Lysa was sobbing, and little Edmure began to weep, too.

After he had fired the arrow to set the pyre aflame, Lord Hoster fell to his knees, crying. Catelyn realized she had to be the strong one. They needed her.

She used her own handkerchief to wipe Lysa's tears and blow Edmure's runny nose. She held her sister and her brother by the hand, and waited as she watched the fire consume her lady mother.

Long after the tide had borne Lady Minisa's pyre away and dusk had fallen, Lord Hoster stirred from his grief. He seemed surprised to see Cat and her siblings.

He petted the younger children, but he only spoke to her. "You must be our lady now, Cat."

She nodded in understanding and kissed his bowed head.

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He'd been at Riverrun no more than a week before her father's new ward Petyr Baelish fell ill and had to be confined to bed. Although he was scarcely three years her junior and rather annoying, Catelyn fancied it her duty as lady of the castle to tend to him.

She took him her favorite storybook and sat by his bedside and read to him, just like her late lady mother had done when she'd been sick. But Petyr didn't know how to be properly sick.

He didn't lie there and look solemn. He pestered her with questions and made faces at her that looked all the more ridiculous with red spots dotting his face. He wouldn't even stay in bed, running back and forth to look out the window and call out things to her like it wasn't a perfectly ordinary day.

"A whole oxcart of just sacks of sugar! What do they need with that much sugar? Oh, and, look, the blacksmith is chasing his apprentice boy..."

Fed up with trying to nurse someone who wouldn't let her, Catelyn set aside the book and rose to leave.

Petyr chased her to the door. "Don't go. I'll be quiet and listen to you read."

"Promise?"

"I promise." He crawled back into bed and smiled what she presumed he thought was an innocent smile.

Catelyn gave him a stern look and sat back down. She started to read about six maids bathing in a pool, and by the time the story was over, Petyr was sound asleep.

He did look innocent asleep, and suddenly she felt sorry for him. He was only a small boy far away from his family and his home, after all. She kissed his hair and said, "Rest well, sweetling."

It was what her lady mother would have done.

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Catelyn walked the battlements of Riverrun, willing her anger to dissipate. It was a trivial matter, and she was a woman nearly grown. Yet, the harder she tried, the worse she felt.

"She needed it more than you."

She recognized her uncle's voice before she saw him. Cat walked further along the wall, afraid she would cry if she had to speak to anyone.

But Brynden Blackfish would not let her be. He caught her and held her tight.

"It's stupid," Cat sobbed. "I have dozens of dresses and Lysa's just a little girl and who cares if she wore my dress."

"Ah, Cat, I wish you could fight with her. I wish you could be Lysa's sister. I wish to the gods Hoster had not made you feel you must be her mother."

"I'm the elder," Cat said. "I have to do better." Even if that meant hiding her anger and pretending it did not matter that Lysa had worn her new blue-green gown before she'd had a chance to wear it herself.

"I know," Brynden said sadly. "And so does Lysa. No matter what she wears, you are the one every man would sooner have as a daughter or as a love."

She knew her uncle was trying to assuage her hurt, but such thoughts did not make Catelyn feel better. Just once she wanted to worry about nothing and simply be a girl wearing a pretty new dress.

Brynden kissed her brow and offered her his hand. "Shall we return to the feast? Your father's guests await."

Catelyn dried her eyes and took her uncle's hand. She had more important matters to worry about than a silly dress. Both Lord Blackwood and Lord Bracken were in attendance, and it would take all a hostess's skills to keep their enmity from spoiling the festivities.

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He was her betrothed, and her septa was only a few paces behind them, yet somehow being with Brandon was as thrilling as Cat imagined wrongdoing to be. Her heart was beating fast and her palms felt damp.

It was his smile, she decided. Brandon Stark had a smile to tempt a maid to wickedness. She thought about him kissing her and about their wedding night. She felt herself blush, and hoped he would not notice.

He did not; he was looking about the godswood. "It's sunny here," he observed. "I fear you will not like our godswood. The trees there are so thick that it is often dark as twilight at mid-day."

Catelyn was of no mind to think of Winterfell's godswood. She could ismell/i Brandon in a way she had never smelled any man. He smelled of some spice she could not identify. She wanted to breathe the scent forever.

She knew how to kiss, she and Lysa had practiced with Petyr so that they would know how. But she had never kissed a man, and a proper maiden did not initiate a kiss, not even with her betrothed.

"I pray I am wrong, but I fear you are paying me no attention, my lady."

"I fear you are correct, my lord."

He grasped her chin gently and tilted her face up to meet his gaze. "I would know who dares steal your thoughts away from me."

"I think only of you and our future together," she replied. His eyes looked incredibly dark, though she knew they were grey.

Then it happened. For one long moment, there was nothing but the wet feel of his mouth and the taste of wine and chewing leaf. It was not like the kisses in the songs.

She could only smile when it was over. Brandon smiled back at her, and offered her his arm.

Cat took his arm, forgetting all the things she ought, and ought not, to do. She thought only of the paths within the godswood where the trees would shade them from sight.


End file.
